Buffy Ficlets

Tiny little BtVS stories

A variety of small ficlets -- drabbles and double-drabbles, mostly -- written during an unexpected layover in an airport. Various pairings etc.

A variety of small ficlets in the Buffyverse.

Ride

There's just one guy at the bar when Weevil walks in. Scrawny kid, red hair, nursing a Corona.

Weevil orders Tecate with lime.

"Nice ride," the guy says.

"Excuse me?" Weevil isn't used to strangers striking up conversation. Especially not since he got his neck inked.

"I used to be in a band with a guy who had a bike like that," he offers. "It's pretty sweet. I'd like one, someday. But for now I just drive a van."

"Whatever." Weevil takes a long pull on his beer. The guy isn't smiling at him, exactly, but there's something about him -- he feels friendly. Which could get him his ass kicked, if he's not careful.

"You're not from around here." It's not a question.

The guy shakes his head. "Sunnydale."

"Never heard of it. Look -- no offense, but you might want to find someplace else to drink."

"This seat reserved for somebody?" Dry.

"There's gonna be a whole lot of bikers here in about ten minutes, and things might get ugly. We have...matters to discuss. And it's full moon -- things can get pretty hairy, night of the full moon."

A cloud passes over the guy's eyes. "Yeah," he says. "I know."

(200 words)

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

Faith had been dancing all night and wasn't ready to quit.

And he'd been watching. When she turned with her beer, he raised his. All the invitation she needed.

She walked over, giving him time to look. "Wanna fuck?"

He gave a little laugh. "That's direct."

"That's how I roll." She stretched like a cat.

"Logan!" The girl's voice was dramatic. "Did you find me a friend?"

Logan smirked. Damn it.

"I've always wanted a hooker." Flirty, with knives underneath.

"Sorry. Not into blondes." She wasn't thinking of Buffy at all. "Your loss," she said to Logan, and moved on.

(100 words)

Delay

Cuddy checked her voicemail for the tenth time and sighed. Three hours in the airport. Odds of getting home were not looking good.

The man across from her -- wearing a tweed sportcoat most guys couldn't have pulled off -- offered a weary smile. "Long day." Ah, he was English.

"Too long."

"What brought you to Cleveland?"

"Conference. Hospital administration. You?"

He colored slightly. "A former -- student of mine lives here."

Maybe it was the accent, but she was charmed. His blush reminded her of Wilson. "Good visit?"

"Quite." This smile transformed him.

"Lucky student," Cuddy said, on impulse, and smiled back.

(100 words)

Romance

"Why don't we ever drink champagne?"

"Excuse me?" Xander knew he shouldn't be surprised by the non sequiturs anymore, and yet.

Anya turned in his arms to face him. "Sparkling wine."

"I know what --"

"People in love drink it in movies all the time! But you don't even own a corkscrew. It...worries me."

Amusement and pride filled him to the brim. "You don't need a corkscrew for champagne," he said, gently.

"Really?"

"I'll bring some home tomorrow night. We'll have a drop o' the bubbly. It'll be perfect," he promised.

"You do love me. Good." Anya closed her eyes, content.

(100 words)

Atonement

Buffy's puttering around the apartment when her phone rings. It's Willow, calling from the Rainbow Potsmoke Gathering. Which has a real name, but Xander's nickname is catchier.

"So how's the thing?" Buffy still can't get used to the idea that witches gather at hippie drumming retreats, but Willow says it's the perfect cover; no one in this town even blinks at the incense or the crystals or the weird noises at all hours of the night.

"So far, so good." Willow's voice is tinny. Not because she's so far away, but because Buffy's cellphone sucks. "I've found a coven to hang out with for the week. They call themselves Jewitches."

"Cute name," Buffy says, holding the phone awkwardly between shoulder and ear, carrying the watering can around the apartment. One of her first projects, now that they aren't on the Hellmouth anymore, was an herb garden; Giles laughed, but so far she hasn't lost a single plant.

"They're pretty good," Willow admits. "They're big on the lunar calendar, lots of waxing and waning moon stuff. And on the mystical energies of the sefirot -- it's a kabbalah thing."

"Sounds...witchy," Buffy says.

"Some of their rituals are a little religious for me, but this afternoon Jori was showing me a really cool atonement spell --"

Buffy can't help wrinkling her nose, even though Willow can't see her. "There are spells for that? I thought atonement was supposed to be all -- internal."

"Oh, it is," Willow assures her. "There's a whole process of preparation and purification. If you want the high-test version to work, before you can cast the circle and start the spell you have to ritually ask forgiveness of the person or people you wronged."

"I guess if it works, it could come in handy," Buffy says. There's a silence and she wonders whether they're both thinking about Willow, veiny with dark fire, almost destroying the world.

Can you atone for something like that?

What if you make a habit of fighting the forces of evil -- how many times do you have to save the world before that kind of transgression gets cancelled out?

"Well, anyway," Buffy rushes in, her voice a little too bright, "no real news from here. Xander's working, Giles is still spending all day in the library, Dawnie's settling in for her first semester --"

"I've only been gone four days," Willow points out.

"Right. I know, I just -- hey, have fun with the Jewitches," Buffy says.

"Sounds like a plan," and it's Willow's determined-to-be-cheerful voice. It makes Buffy's heart hurt.

Maybe it's because they're a thousand miles apart, but there are things Buffy's never said that suddenly come unbidden to her mouth.

"Will?" Buffy says, quietly. "You know we forgave you a long time ago, right?"

There's what might be a muffled sniff from the other end of the line, but when Willow pipes up again she sounds completely normal. "I know," she says. "I don't feel guilty about it anymore."

(500 words)

The End